


You Scratch Mine

by reserve, robokittens



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dat Rookie Life Though, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, just guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny lends a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Scratch Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is entitled to at least one road-roomies-fucking-around fic. Or seven. Or as robokittens put it, "I just want to read about dumb prodigy teenagers hooking up forever."

Usually Patrick is the one who commandeers the shower first. When they get back to the hotel after a game, or even when they first get to the hotel, he likes to get in there, lay his claim to most of sink (he's got a lot of hair products), and cover the shower in his own spunk before Jonny can. Travel is hard, he's got needs. Plus, if Jonny uses shower before him during the day then Patrick ends up choking on a cloud of Polo Sport when it's his turn. 

Tonight is the rare occasion that Jonny beats him to it, but it's cool because Patrick is fucking wiped. It's a long flight from Illinois to British Columbia, but Vancouver is quieter than Chicago. There's nothing but the whir of the hotel air conditioner, the steady drum of shower water on porcelain, and the distant sounds of the city to disrupt the sanctity of their room. But Patrick's a light sleeper, and he can't sleep through the shower noises anyway. 

He resigns himself to wakefulness, tugs on a pair of pajama pants, and drags all the blankets down to the end of the hotel bed before crawling back onto it and pulling the thin top sheet up over himself in a pretense of modesty. The shower keeps up until he's torn between the desire to get up and do something—maybe flip on the TV or grab his charging cell phone—and never wanting to move again. For now he's settled for staring at the ceiling, and letting the sounds from behind the bathroom door wash over him just like the AC, cocooning him in white noise. 

He thinks about maybe rubbing one out. Jonny takes such long showers; he's definitely got the time. Or Patrick could wait his turn and take a shower himself, but why not seize the moment? He's just about made up his mind to stick a hand down his pants and start stroking himself off when he hears the first moan. 

Patrick freezes and drops his arm to his side like he's been found out, his heart pounding.

It wouldn't be the first time he's _pretended_ to hear Jonny moaning while he jerks off. Roomies means he's fortunate enough to have heard those moans first-hand, compliments of feigning sleep, and they're a pretty firm fixture in his spank bank. He holds his breath and pushes the limits of his hearing to make sure the shower's still running (it is), but doesn't start touching himself. It's possible that actually jerking off to Jonny in real time is taking it a little too far, and the seconds tick by before Patrick realizes he's rhythmically clenching and unclenching his hands against his thighs in frustration.

The second moan is louder.

Patrick could swear he can hear the sound of skin moving on skin, which is so improbable he knows it's gotta be in his head.

He's seen Jonny naked enough times that it's no effort to picture him now. He can imagine exactly what's going on behind that door. Can picture the length of Jonny's cock sliding in and out of view in Jonny's fist. Can picture him pulling back his foreskin, playing with it; rubbing his thumb slowly over the glistening slit. The way the water drips down his face and how he tips his head back into the shower spray. The way the droplets catch on his eyelashes, clumping the dark hairs together. Little details Patrick hadn't realized he'd memorized, but now he can't stop seeing. He had no idea how clearly Jonny had imprinted on his memory.

And before he's fully cogent of it, Patrick has a hand down his flannel pajamas and he's palming his rapidly hardening dick, straining to hear more of Jonny even as he struggles to keep himself quiet. The sounds of real Jonny superimposed over the mental images are almost too much to handle. He's fully hard before he knows it, and can't stop himself from jerking himself harder and faster than he normally would, trying to rush into it headfirst rather than drawing it out.

He feels a pressing need to finish before Jonny does, and at the same time, this wild reckless part of him, the part of him that forgets all aspects of self-preservation, wants to shove down his pants and open up the door to the bathroom to see for himself. Maybe climb into the shower, too.

He's so distracted by the image: pushing open the shower curtain, wrapping himself around Jonny from behind—because in his fantasy Jonny doesn't mind, is happy to have Patrick's dick nestled in the warm, slick crease of his ass, Patrick's hand coming to wrap around his own dick—that he doesn't hear the creak of the shower turning off.

And he certainly doesn't hear the door open. Frankly, he's so far gone on it, immersed in a universe where Jonny would welcome the head of Patrick's dick grazing over his asshole with each press of hips, that he's forgotten the necessity of being quiet himself. And he certainly didn't mean to kick down the sheets in an effort to get at himself more fully. Or to bend his knees so he could drop his other hand down to his balls without impediment. He can be shameless, for sure. But if he knew how on display he was, if he thought anyone could see him, he'd manage a little decency.

He can't even hear Jonny's quiet, "um," over the sound of his own harsh breath.

Patrick's riding the edge of orgasm, lifting his hips up off the bed with each twist of his wrist, and mentally fucking into the channel of Jonny's thighs, picture perfect in his head. He's so blissfully unaware that Jonny's hissed out "Kaner," hits him like a lightening bolt to the system, so perfectly timed that Patrick can't separate the very real sound from his fantasy. Even as he startles and stills the movement of his hand, he lets out an stuttery, involuntary, " _Jonny_ ," and squeezes his eyes shut as he grips the base of his dick tightly between his thumb and forefinger. 

Jonny drops a hand onto Patrick's knee and his whole body jerks. The touch is electric, even through the flannel, warm and damp. It's like each fingertip has a straight shot to his dick. He shivers, grips himself tighter, and doesn't think about Jonny's hand replacing his. He's still not moving, and it still doesn't feel real, more like a palimpsest of 1,000 different jerk-off fantasies. 

Jonny's fingers tighten on his knee. " _Kaner_ ," he repeats more urgently. He sounds uncharacteristically hoarse. 

Patrick turns his head into the pillow. He keeps his eyes shut, and his hand still. He can barely breathe through the nerves; he feels like a big, dumb ostrich, like maybe if he just stays very still and doesn't look, Jonny won't be there at all. 

"Don't stop now," Jonny says, very much still there.  

"What?" Patrick rasps, his voice muffled by down feathers and fabric. 

Jonny spreads his hand out and strokes Patrick's knee, his fingers coming together in a point at the center of Patrick's kneecap. The sensation sends chills through him and he feels a little bit of precome spill out of his dick and down to the circle of his fingers. 

"I said _don't stop_."

"Are you just. Are you just gonna stand there?" 

"Yeah," Jonny breathes out. "I am."

"But—"

"Fuck, Kaner, just do it."

Patrick inhales sharply, and Jonny strokes down his knee again, setting off so much tingling pleasure from just the pads of his fingers through Patrick's _pants_ that it's fucking insane. He can't even imagine what it would be like to have Jonny's warm, calloused hands on his bare skin, sliding over him, lighting him up. The thought is enough get his hand moving on his dick again, and Jonny exhales loudly through his nose, his fingers clamping down on Patrick's knee before he gets a leg up on the bed and moves in close.  His knees bracket Patrick's calves, and he steadies himself with his other hand low on Patrick's stomach, their forearms brushing together as Patrick works himself over.

Jonny leans over him, his hand on Patrick's stomach pressing down in soothing circles low on his abdomen, the heel of his hand almost butting up against the base of Patrick's dick. The steady pressure on his pelvis is a surprising augment to his arousal, deep and strange, tugging at him. He swipes a new spurt of precome off the head of his dick with the next upsweep and pulls the moisture down with his fist. Jonny makes a strange sound with his mouth, like he's sucking hard at a straw, and shifts closer. Then he's spitting on Patrick, a thick gob of saliva that lands on Patrick's hand and mixes with his own slick, only to be drawn back back up with his fist, easing the way. It is the single grossest thing that's ever happened to Patrick's dick, and he couldn't be harder. He stops at the tip and shifts his wrist, his thumb circling over the sensitive ridge at the head, spreading Jonny's spit over the silky smooth skin there. 

Patrick moans.

"Fucking Christ," says Jonny, low and garbled. "Look at you. Think about this all the time." 

Patrick's head moves involuntarily and then he's got Jonny in his line of sight, his bowed shoulders, his head tilted down while he stares at Patrick's own hand, at his erection.

"You think about me?" Patrick forces out. 

"All the damn time. When I'm in the shower, hoping you're out here, doing this."

"You jerk off to me, Tazer?" Patrick's voice sounds labored, but almost flirty to his own ears.

When Jonny reluctantly meets his gaze his expression is fierce, apparent even in the dark with his mouth hanging open, slack and stupid looking. "All the time," he repeats, and shifts his hand from Patrick's belly to his dick, his palm wrapping gently around Patrick's knuckles. "Show me how you like it."

"Are you sure—"

"I wanna feel you." 

"Fuck," Patrick says, and then he giggles, lightheaded, hopelessly turned on, and so close. "Alright.”

They move together, Patrick fucking into the hot, wet circle of their hands, Jonny's fingers interlaced with his. Patrick can't stop himself from staring at the spectacle of it, the remarkable reality of Jonny touching him like this, intent and intimate and riveted by Patrick's fucking dick, and when he comes all over both of their knuckles and up over his stomach, it's only after Jonny says, "C'mon baby, give it to me." 

His cheeks feel hot. The nape of his neck is soaked with sweat, and Jonathan Toews is breathing hard and ragged above him, like he just came too. Patrick reaches for him then, with the hand that was clutching at his collarbones through the whole affair, his joints stiff, and Jonny moves to meet him. He lets Patrick grip his shoulder to pull him close and down, pressing their bare chests together and trapping Patrick's spunk between them. Jonny turns them both on their sides and roughly tugs up Patrick's pajamas before hooking a leg over his hips. He noses up behind his ear, and presses a kiss to Patrick's jaw. 

 Jonny is a furnace, and somehow he's shivering, shuddering against Patrick, dropping kisses onto his neck, and dragging his lips over his skin while Patrick lays there, spent and a little bit shocked, his mind spinning in an idle litany of what now and what happens next. 

"Don't worry about it," Jonny says sleepily into his skin. He throws an arm over Patrick's shoulders, and tugs him closer, fitting Patrick's head below his chin. "You can get me back tomorrow."

"Okay," Patrick says once he's found his voice below layers of hope and a twinge of renewed arousal. "I can do that." 

And he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> [robokittens](http://robokittens.tumblr.com) is not sure how this happened. [reserve](http://reseve.tumblr.com) is a force for evil. follow us on tumblr. go hawks!


End file.
